Coffee Time, Tico Style vs. Expat Style

Skip's point of view

Back in South Florida, my “coffee time” was less about socializing and relaxation. . and more about survival and feeling that caffeine rush. 

Picture this: the alarm goes off at 6 a.m., I shoot out of bed like I’m being launched from a catapult, and within 15 minutes I’m showered, dressed, juggling keys, phone, laptop and a to-go bagel I’ll probably forget in the car. Coffee? Oh, that was just another item on my “stay alive” checklist. I’d screech into the drive-thru, bark “medium, black, please,” and peel out with a cardboard cup as hot as the lava created by the past eruptions of Arenal. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what it tasted like. . it could have been motor oil for all I knew. It wasn’t coffee. . it was liquid rocket fuel. Quick, impersonal and robotic. . that was MY "coffee time" for years on end. And now, I'm ashamed of myself for wasting this special ritual that means so much to me now. . 

Then I met Teresita, my wise and ever-patient tica friend, who nearly fainted when, one day, she saw me gulp down a full cup of coffee in under 90 seconds. “¡Ay, gringuito! Why are you rushing with your coffee?” she asked, hands on her hips.“I’m not rushing,” I replied proudly. “I’m multitasking.”

Teresita laughed so hard she nearly snorted her cafecito. “Multitasking? Coffee is not for tasks. Coffee is for LIFE. . for SHARING and for CONVERSATION! You definitely need some schooling, and I'm going to give it to you right now!"

Lesson Number One: NEVER argue with a tica about coffee time, tico style!

The next morning, she invited me over for “proper coffee time.” I thought it’d be a 20-minute visit. Wrong. I walked onto her patio and there it was: a pot of fresh coffee, warm homemade bread, guava jam and a smile that said, you’re not leaving anytime soon. We sat, we sipped, we talked. First about my family. Then about life in the USA. I confessed that back home, I used to schedule my “relaxation” in 15-minute increments, sandwiched between errands and conference calls. She nearly dropped her bread from laughing.

“Mira,” she said, pausing like she was about to reveal the secret of the universe. “In Costa Rica, coffee is not about caffeine. Coffee is about connection. We don’t drink coffee. . we share it.”

And share we did. Minutes later, one of her cousins dropped by. Then a neighbor wandered in. Suddenly, I was in the middle of a patio party with six people, endless laughter and more coffee refills than I thought humanly possible. By the time I checked my watch, two hours had passed. Not once did I think about emails, traffic or what I needed to accomplish later in the day. It was just about getting to know others, savoring these special moments and making new friends. I finally realized that this will be the MOST IMPORTANT time of every day for the rest of my life. . and it has been!

Now, even on my own, coffee time feels different. I sit on my deck with a mug, watch the palms swaying, listen to toucans, and. . without even trying, well. . I start smiling. Back in Florida, coffee was a quick pit stop. Here in Costa Rica, it’s the entire road trip! It's something that I look forward to and long for. And now, I make it a magical time to meet new people or to invite an old friend to reunite. .

I once told Teresita, “In the USA, coffee was like a race car. . fast, noisy and gone in a blur. Here in Costa Rica, coffee is like a hammock. . steady, slow and gently holding me up while I do absolutely nothing.”She laughed so hard she almost spilled her second cup. “¡Exacto! You finally get it!”

So yes, I’ve changed. My coffee no longer comes in a paper cup while I’m stuck in traffic. It comes in a sturdy ceramic mug, on a patio, with old friends (or new friends). . or sometimes just me, the breeze and a couple of curious butterflies.

And if I ever forget the lesson? No worries. Teresita is only a phone call away, preaching the importance of "coffee time" like it's a matter of life and death!

What I have learned from Teresita. . “Slow down. Sip longer. Laugh louder. And for heaven’s sake. . have another cup.”

Tere's point of view

For us ticos, coffee time isn't something we plan or schedule. It simply... happens. Like the morning mist settling over the mountains, it arrives naturally, in its own time.

I remember growing up, watching my grandmother's face light up when she heard familiar footsteps approaching our house. She would pause whatever she was doing - folding clothes, tending plants - and listen. "Alguien viene," someone's coming, she'd say with a knowing smile, already moving toward the kitchen.

And sure enough, a neighbor would appear at our door. Maybe carrying a small paper bag with fresh bread still warm from the panadería. Or perhaps a piece of queso or tortilla wrapped in kitchen cloths. No phone call. No planned visit. They simply felt it was coffee time, and our house... well, our house was calling to them.

"¡Pongamos agua!" my grandmother would announce - Let's put water on! - and I would watch the beautiful choreography begin. Slowly, naturally. Chairs pulled into a comfortable circle. The good cups brought out, the ones reserved for company. 

If we had bread or pastries to share, it would be wonderful. The table would fill with simple treasures. But if not? We would simply smile and call it "café pelado" - naked coffee. And somehow, it tasted just as perfect.

But oh... the truly glorious days were when my grandmother had spent the afternoon making empanadas. As a child, those were the coffee times that felt like pure magic. The kitchen would be filled with the aroma of masa and whatever filling she had chosen - cheese, beans, sometimes even a little picadillo if we were lucky. When neighbors arrived on empanada days, their faces would light up the moment they caught that unmistakable scent. Those coffee times would stretch longer, with more laughter, more stories, more neighbors mysteriously appearing as word somehow spread through the invisible network that connects all tico kitchens.

As a child, I was always puzzled when I saw people in American movies take one tiny sip of coffee and then... leave it there. The cup sitting abandoned, still full, growing cold. ¿En serio? Seriously? This made no sense to my young mind. Tico coffee is meant to be savored, appreciated, finished with gratitude. When someone asks for a second cup at your house, their eyes bright with satisfaction, you know you've done something right. It's the highest compliment they can give you.

Years later, when I started working in an office, I discovered that this same gentle magic could happen anywhere. One colleague would arrive with a bag of fresh bread. Another might bring homemade cookies wrapped in napkins. And slowly, naturally, we would gather around the small kitchen table, letting the morning rush settle into something more human.

Better yet were the days when we could slip away to the neighborhood sodita for a proper "yodito" - that perfect after-office break that reminds you to breathe, to connect, to remember that work is just work, but people... people are everything.

There are rules to this ritual, unspoken but sacred. Never, ever reheat coffee from the morning to serve in the afternoon. ¡Por favor! Coffee must be fresh, brewed with intention and care each time someone new arrives.

And yes, even our children learn to love tico coffee early. The pediatricians might raise their eyebrows at us, but this is how we've always been. This is how we teach our little ones about community, about the art of slowing down, about being truly present with the people who matter.

When Skip first came to my patio, rushing through his coffee like it was bitter medicine he had to swallow quickly, I knew immediately: this gringo needs some gentle teaching! He didn't understand yet that coffee isn't about the caffeine rushing through your veins. Coffee is about connection. About the spaces between words. About the comfortable silence that settles over friends like a warm blanket.

We don't just drink coffee in Costa Rica. We live it. We breathe it. We share it like we share our stories, our laughter, our time. Thta's the coffee time, tico style.

This is our way. Unhurried. Unplanned. Flowing as naturally as coffee from pot to cup to heart.